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Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

You part from the earth, my grandson. Is that what you wish?

The sun. So warm. So bright.

Do I, Eden? Where am I going?

There was a breath of wind in his wings. It lifted him like a hand below his breast.

When we leave this earth, leave behind this fragile living dream from which we strive never to awake, neither you nor I can know where we head.

Sam blinked in the light, his heart growing suddenly heavy at his grandfather’s words.

Am I dying, Grandfather?

There was another gust beneath his feathers, colder this time. He became aware that his body had weight.

Eden’s voice was distant now, and it sighed on the air like the breeze, making Sam cock his feathered head to catch his words.

You were born Indian. You will die Indian.

Sam breathed in the cold air, now losing its warmth as he circled faster and faster, though he could not tell if he flew towards the sun or towards the earth.

It was so bright. There were faces in the sunlight. The face of a woman, her eyes full of love, and two children laughing and smiling.

There was a beating on his chest. A punching. Something so heavy, so hard striking him on his heart. Again and again and again.

Born Indian. He would die Indian. Yes, he would.

He would die Indian.

The eagle, its wings burning in the sun, tipped its great span and dived.

62

‘Four minutes. I guess four minutes.’

The man looked towards the distant tunnel. A neat concrete arch.

The small head had bobbed up from the rail to which its ear had been applied, and the child ran back to its father with rosy cheeks and swinging black hair.

The trains’ new route made them appear faster than they had in the past, cutting a minute or so off their entrance into Silver from the time they first entered the re-designed upper tunnels.

‘Get back then.’

The child obeyed and they waited until the singing rails gave way to the thudding of an engine and hundreds of tons of metal rolled slowly over two dollars.

It took longer than they thought, and the man sat with his big hands dangling over his knees while the train got on with its unpatriotic job of vandalizing coins. This was a big train. But the man and child could wait. They liked to wait.

Billy Hunting Wolf turned the flat shiny saucer over in his gloved hand. It caught the sunlight and lit his face from below.

He looked down at his daughter marvelling at her trophy.

‘Do I win, sweetheart?’

The child looked up at her father with an unusually solemn expression, eyes black coals of serious love. ‘I guess so.’

‘Then I give you mine. You win it for knowing more about trains.’ He held out his coin.